


You Make Me Wanna Cry (In a Good Way)

by baptistes



Category: Given (Anime), Given (Manga)
Genre: Domestic, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Coital Cuddling, but it's only because I literally can't write anything vanilla, very minor implied dom/sub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:15:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27538198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baptistes/pseuds/baptistes
Summary: "Haru,” Akihiko purrs into Haruki’s ear, sending tingles down his spine. "Stop hiding."Haruki has never really been one to disobey.(alternatively: the one where haru can't stop taking and aki doesn't mind giving)
Relationships: Kaji Akihiko/Nakayama Haruki
Comments: 6
Kudos: 216





	You Make Me Wanna Cry (In a Good Way)

**Author's Note:**

> i actually wrote a lot of this talking about haru's hair flowing all prettily beneath him and aki just being enamoured by it and then I read the manga and just took it out completely lol
> 
> title from in a good way by faye webster

Haruki looks pretty like this, Akihiko thinks, with his hair fanned out beneath him and a red flush on his cheeks, embarrassed. He’s got an arm thrown over his face to hide, or to save his pride, whatever. It’s hard to think he’s two years older when he gets so flustered and small at times like these.

Akihiko drags a finger up Haruki’s sternum. “You’re pretty,” he says. He says it a lot because he likes the way Haruki hides behind his slender fingers and brushes him off. Like he doesn’t want to believe Akihiko. Like Akihiko would lie.

He doesn’t respond, only hides further behind the back of his hand.

Akihiko brings his fingers up to run along the heart line, to pull the hand away. Haruki always gets this glazed over look in his eye, like a deer caught in headlights, or like he can’t believe that Akihiko is really beside him. That he’s not imagining things. When Akihiko uses his thumb to pull on Haruki’s bottom lip, he parts them. “Stop hiding,” Akihiko tells him, leaning in close.

“Stop embarrassing me, then,” Haruki tuts, turning his head so he doesn’t have to look at him. Akihiko's gaze feels firey, like he'll get. burned if he acknowledges its intensity for too long.

“Why should I?” he murmurs, leaning to press his lips to the space where Haruki’s jaw meets his neck. “When you look like that, I can’t help it.”

Haruki makes this sound from the back of his throat, like the suggestion pains him. He can feel Akihiko smile, and it’s just like him to find amusement in Haruki’s suffering.

“ _Haru_ ,” Akihiko purrs into Haruki’s ear, sending tingles down his spine. He’s leaning over Haruki again, a beast to his prey. If Haruki weren’t turned away, he’d see the adoration behind Akihiko’s eyes, the awe behind the quirk in his lips. “Look at me.”

Haruki has never really been one to disobey.

Their eyes meet for a moment, and Hauki feels like his face might melt clean off with how hot it’s burning. Akihiko always looks at him like he’s looking _into_ him and it makes Haruki feel seen to the soul, naked and raw and unable to hide despite his fruitless attempts. Akihiko gets off on it-- Haruki is sure.

“It’s so _embarrassing_ ,” he murmurs. He’s got to be red all the way to his chest by now, hasn’t he? He refuses to look because it’d just make him more embarrassed.

“What is?”

Haruki chews on his bottom lip for a moment before responding. “You talk to me like that,” he huffs, squirming. “As if you’re not doing things to me. Like you don’t even notice.”

Haruki can tell from the smirk on his face that Akihiko is about to play dumb, and it just might drive him insane. “What things?” he asks, crooking his fingers to make Haruki whine. Of course he pretends he doesn’t know what slowly stretching Haruki for the better part of thirty minutes would do. Why wouldn’t he do that?

“Those things,” Haruki grits, panting as Akihiko rubs the pads of his fingers against his spot. How he’s managed to locate it this thoroughly after every time despite them not having been together for very long is still beyond Haruki, but he wouldn’t complain even if he could.

“You don’t like to get called pretty while I fuck you on my fingers?” The lewdness of it makes Haruki moan disapprovingly, though it’s not so much how crude Akihiko’s tongue is but how _inaccurate_ it is. Regrettably, of course, Haruki _does_ like being called pretty while Akihiko fucks him on his fingers. He likes it very much.

Haruki shakes his head, moving to throw an arm over his face. Akihiko catches him mid-movement, halting the action. “Ah,” he chides. Haruki almost expects to be flicked on the nose like one would a misbehaving dog. “What did we talk about?”

“Please let me hide,” Haruki whispers, eyes pleading. “I’m so embarrassed I could die.”

A moment passes where they just look at each other again, and then Akihiko lets his arm go. “Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” he says. His hand slides down Haruki’s abdomen to grab hold of his length, red and leaking onto his stomach. A pitiful noise escapes Haruki, but it seems just what Akihiko wanted.

His grip is loose, teasing, but he’s _always_ teasing-- riling Haruki up until he’s fit to burst. He likes to do this; to take his time and make Haruki wait until he’s writhing and panting and frustrated. He likes to savour these things, whereas Haruki is the type not to fuss over the finicky little things, but at the end of the day, he’ll do what Akihiko wants. It’s not like it makes it worse for him, when they finish. If anything, it makes it _better_ , it’s just that getting to that point makes Haruki feel too big for his skin.

“Please,” he murmurs, after another handful of minutes of Akihiko slowly stroking him off with one hand while the other rubs circles into his prostate. He feels like he’s vibrating, like if Akihiko keeps this up he’ll end up on the floor.

“What do you need, Haru?” Akihiko’s voice seems impossibly thick, like gravel rolled in honey on a long country road, deep and warm and seeping into Haruki’s brain like a slithering snake. He’s everywhere at once, on him, inside of him, his scent lingering in the air hanging above them, words tattooing themselves on the insides of Haruki’s eardrums. Haruki feels drunk on it, hazy and loose-limbed and wanting nothing more than to take, take, take and never give back.

“ _Aki_ ,” he whines in lieu of an actual response. He’s not sure if he can manage an actual response right now. Not when he feels like he’s watching this happen to him from the other side of the room. “Please.”

Akihiko takes pity on him, and so he doesn’t make him ask for it. Haruki is grateful when he sees Akihiko’s contemplative look melt into one of compassion, like the beast within him is sated for the time being. Not for long, though. Never for long. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll give it to you.”

The flesh all but melts away from Haruki’s bones at the confirmation, a sounds escaping him at the mere thought of what’s to come. He watches, eyes half-lidded as Akihiko slips out of his boxers to slick himself up, adding some extra lube to where Haruki is clenching open and closed in anticipation.

The first breach always knocks the wind out of Haruki. It’s not painful, nor is it ever particularly earth-shattering, but it makes Haruki feel more full and warm than he’s ever felt outside of this and he can’t help himself. His jaw hangs open but no sound leaves his lips, looking almost like he can’t believe what’s happening as one of Akihiko’s hands stroke his jaw while the other braces him next to Haruki’s ear.

“There you go,” Akihiko murmurs only as the breath Haruki had been holding leaves his lungs. “Better now?” It’s rhetorical, but even if Haruki was supposed to respond, he wouldn’t be able to.

Akihiko sets a pace that’s on the right side of mean; because Haruki likes this just as much as he likes it when Akihiko fucks him slow while a record plays in the background and he can’t stop murmuring about how sweet he is, how gorgeous he looks in the low light. Not that he _isn’t_ doing that now, it’s just that there’s a certain divide between the two and Haruki usually doesn’t know which he’s getting unless he asks for one. Today he asked for this.

He likes it when he can’t speak, when he’s reduced to pitiful noises that he feels bashful about in the aftermath, when Akihiko’s fingers, thick and calloused from years of violin and drums and other things Haruki could never be as good at, press little marks into his skin that fade within the hour but Haruki can feel for days. He likes the babbling, the squirming, head so hazy with the pleasure Akihiko brings him that it’s all he can think of, brain swimming with _Aki, Aki, Aki_ on repeat like a scratched CD. It’s good like this, Haruki thinks. He doesn’t have to worry about the anxieties perpetually nestled within him, because Akihiko can take them away with a touch of his lips or fingers on Haruki’s skin or his cock pressed so far into him he can taste it on the back of his tongue.

Haruki can’t figure out what to do with his hands. He rotates, in no particular pattern, from gripping the pillow under his head, to pinching at his own nipples, to grabbing frantically at Akihiko’s broad shoulders, like if he lets go he’ll disintegrate and blow away with their ceiling fan. Akihiko seems to notice this after a few cycles through, so he holds one of Haruki’s hands with his own while the other guides the trembling thing to the back of his neck.

He tries to babble something out, something stupid like, _thank you for helping_ , but it doesn’t come out as words and Akihiko’s fingers slip into his gaping mouth before it can. He likes this, too; suckling on the tips of Akihiko’s fingers. It fills him with a sense of comfort he can seldom find elsewhere. Haruki is convinced he has an oral fixation-- it’d certainly explain why he was always chewing on pens and gravitated towards smoking at such a young age. Akihiko has no qualms about this, of course. He’s happy to oblige Haruki in whatever he wants in his mouth at any given moment because he likes the blissed-out look in his eye and the blush dark on his cheeks.

He can only suckle for a minute or so before it takes too much mental effort, but Akihiko’s index and middle fingers stay pressing down on his tongue regardless. It’s mostly to comfort, but part of it is so that Haruki can’t hide the sounds he’s begun to make freely. Aihiko likes to drink them up, Haruki finds, when Haruki is teary-eyed and desperate and wants Akihiko to make him cum.

Akihiko’s mouth is on him, kissing and sucking and nibbling at whatever skin he can reach, swallowing up what few words Haruki can get out: please, Aki, please, it feels so good. His hand is slack in Akihiko’s, but it doesn’t matter, for Aihiko grips him tightly when his hold becomes loose and shaky. The other, which has done nothing but rest halfheartedly against the back of Akihiko’s neck, jostled with every deep thrust into him, slips into the short, bleached blond hair that adorns Akihiko’s head. He’s let it grow enough that Haruki can pull minutely at it, and Haruki has discovered, over the many times they’ve done this, that Akihiko likes to have the thin strands tugged on.

The feeling of his orgasm approaching hits Haruki out of nowhere, as though they haven’t been building up to it for nearly an hour. He tries to warn Akihiko around his fingers, but the words become garbled and messy and don’t even make sense to himself.

Akihiko understands, though. Of course he does. “Go ahead,” he murmurs, kissing each brow bone. “I’ve got you.”

Haruki can feel it in his toes when he cums. It’s hard and hot and makes him feel like someone’s just flipped a switch to make every nerve ending exposed, and it feels like it lasts centuries but it’s more like thirty seconds. Akihiko doesn’t let him go afterwards, but Haruki wouldn’t want him to anyway, because he likes this too, when he’s oversensitive and can do nothing but take what Akihiko can give him.

It doesn’t take much longer for Akihiko to let go, but it’s understandable considering he’d spent all that time on Haruki without laying a finger on himself. He spills quietly into latex, and he’s still murmuring unintelligible praises into Haruki’s neck when he slips out. He grabs a shirt off of the floor-- whether it’s his or Haruki’s is far out of the latter’s mind at the moment, because all he can think about is how sated he feels and how much he wants to stop being sticky.

Akihiko wipes him down gently, a hand braced on his hip and rubbing small circles into his overheated skin with a thumb as a reassurance. Haruki watches with a dopey smile as Akihiko wipes himself off too, then drops the soiled fabric to the floor and unceremoniously flops beside Haruki, pulling the blanket over them. Haruki drapes a leg over Akihiko’s hip, nuzzling into the space where his neck meets his shoulder.

“Love you,” he murmurs into the skin, still slightly tacky with perspiration.

“Love you too,” Akihiko responds, kissing the top of Haruki’s head. His arm, which he’s taken the liberty of wrapping around Haruki, pulls him in closer so that he’s nearly on top of Akihiko. “I really don’t feel like cooking now,” he laughs quietly.

Right, dinner. That’s what they were going to do before things went south. Haruki groans. “Ugh, how do you think I feel? I’m not playing housewife tonight. I don’t think I can stand, let alone walk to the kitchen to make your lazy ass food.”

“But you’d look so _pretty_ dolled up in the kitchen with a frilly little apron on,” Akihiko teases, and Haruki hits him in the meat of his bicep.

“Screw that, I’m ordering takeout.”

“Changed my mind,” he says. “No complaints here.”

“You’re paying.”

Akihiko pauses. After a moment: “Fine,” he mutters. “But we’re napping for a bit first.”

Haruki sighs, but he's smiling, splaying his fingers out across Akihiko’s broad chest. “No complaints here.”

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://somethin-real.tumblr.com)


End file.
